


The Greatest Gift They Got This Year Was Life

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [11]
Category: Duran Duran
Genre: A/B/O verse, Alternate Universe, Art, Baby, Band, Band Fic, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Colours, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Kissing, M/M, Men Crying, Notorious, Presents and Gifts, Secrets, Slow dances, Snow, serenades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: December 25th 1985. John could never forget this day: the greatest gift he had gotten this year was indeed, life. A new lease on it.But he’s not the only one.
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573288
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	The Greatest Gift They Got This Year Was Life

**Author's Note:**

> _Merry Christmas to all my wonderful readers! Thanks so much for sticking by me and making me feel so welcome into this fandom. I’ve never been so happy with my writing and have you all to thank for making this so special and fun for me! <3_   
> 

_Wednesday, December 25th 1985_

Golden lights twinkled and ruby wrapped itself round the green; adding a luxe shine to the fir. Crimson red baubles littered the tree, some glitter and some metallic; all radiating a soft light. The star was golden, shimmering atop of the tree.

A sea of silver and gold cluttered the floor, gleaming with bows and stray ribbons. The coal fire was raging, creating a cosy feel, drawing them both into its warmth.

Tinsel weaved it’s way throughout the bannister, ornaments shone atop of the table. The air was rich with cinnamon, a tinge of apple that was so homily, so welcoming, that he couldn’t hide such a joyful smile.

Upon seeing him rise to his feet and turn on his heel, John’s grin tugged at his ruby lips.

“She’s finally asleep. It’s getting easier, a strum of _Girls On Film_ is what we are doing now.” He admitted, running a hand through his overgrown brown locks.

The chuckle was music to his ears, the tone was soft and hearty.

“Early bloomer, that daughter of yours Johnny.”

John couldn’t help but giggle. He caught the sly look as it caressed Simon’s face, his plush lips tugging upwards and beady blue eyes narrowing.

“C’mere baby.”

He was lured into Simon’s flame. His arms were open and inviting, that John threw himself into them. John revelled in his scent, it was a little musky with a hint of dominance. A dash of protectiveness and care. He shivered upon feeling those lips caress his neck, delivering quick kisses up it and round his jawline. John leant into the touch and the small ministrations, with a hum of appreciation. Of affection, of sheer need.

“Hmmm, _luv_ , this feels nice.”

Simon began humming into his ear, huge hands now resting around John’s waist. John found his own running up Simon’s spine and he found himself stifling his laughter as his touches made Simon’s breath hitch and stutter. Which resulted in those hands wrapping tighter around John, squeezing and moulding their bodies together.

**_At Christmas time, it's hard._ **

**_But when you're having fun._ **

“You need a shave.” John muttered into Simon’s ruffled jay black hair.

“Piss off.” Simon chuckled, grinding his cheek harder against John’s own in silent retaliation. “You _know_ you love it. I could totally rock a beard.”

“Mmmkay, you’ve got me there _luv_.”

**_There’s a world outside your window._ **

****

Simon continued his hum, his words breathy and hot against John’s elongated neck. He found himself closing his eyes, glasses threatening to fall from his face as they began to sway, chests flush and hips grinding in a slow, maddening rhythm.

**_And it’s a world of dread and fear._ **

****

“I still think it’s freaking _hilarious_ that you were, you know, petrified of singing with Sting.”

“Bollocks John, I wasn’t—“

John bulldozed straight over him, with a laugh echoing off of the Christmas card covered walls.

“John, why are you laughing, you twat?!” Simon’s voice was light, hands dropping further down his back.

“Because- because, _stop that_ Charlie!” Simon had begun kneading his hands into John’s perfectly round and perfectly inviting ass, “he can.. Sting can actually hold a key- _ow_!”

John cried out, sending his right hand back to his head to where Simon’s ring had clipped him.

“Christ.. you wanker!”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain like that Johnny, not on a day like today.” Simon’s smirk was freaking audible.

“Just shut up and serenade me.” John stated as he dipped his head to rest atop of Simon’s shoulder, brown hair splaying out in all directions.

“Ugh, _fine_.” Simon feigned his annoyance, teasing hands skirting back to settle in John’s leather belt loops. “Now, where were we?”

John began to hum the next line, coaxing Simon to remember and pick up where he left off; voice soft and mellow.

They were surrounded by the beauties of Christmas. Their waltzing silhouettes, locked in a tight embrace, were backed by the glint of the tree lights. The blaze of the fire that roared all around them: filling the room with such a warmth that they both couldn’t pull themselves away.

**_Where the only water flowing,_ **

**_Is the bitter sting of tears._ **

They rocked, slow and steady, to Simon’s heavenly voice. The cracks in it were perfection that John had never heard anything so beautiful.

**_And the Christmas bells that ring, There are the clanging chimes of doom._ **

****

He knew that Simon prided himself on moments such as this, so sweet and tender: that would ensure John, his mate, would melt into his strong body.

**_Well tonight thank God it’s them,_ **

**_Instead of you._ **

Only the light tap of the knocker shook them from their trance, eventually. Grinning, John pulled away and immediately fingered his glasses, keeping them in place. His smile was wide, baring his teeth, as he strut to the front door with his head held high.

“Hmm, Hmm.. Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?” John found himself mumbling, a finger tapping against his hip. “Feed! The! _Wo_ -o-o-oe-rld.”

Then, out of nowhere he was unceremoniously interrupted.

“There are reasons _you_ shouldn’t be aloud to sing, _fairy_ Taylor!”

“Shut up, Simon!” John barked back, trying to sound vicious and failing miserably at stifling his laughter. “I’m having fun, try it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Just answer the door quietly, do us all a favour.”

“… _Poofter_ Le-Bon.” He muttered under his breath. For Simon it had to be a more grand sounding, more odd slur.

John’s hand dived forward, twisting the doorknob and to finger the golden chain. He was greeted to the angelic guise, smooth skin doused in dusty pink and raven black locks falling into his face that were warm enough that John didn’t even feel the cold breeze blowing change, blowing through his doorway.

The snow fluttered merrily around him, settling on the ground and crunching under his feet.

“Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Feliz Navidad and.. uh, that’s about as far as my language skills get. And whatever the hell else, Nicky!” John was elated, smile so wide that his cheeks began to ache.

“Fröhe Weihnachten und Joyeux Noël to you too, Nigel.” Nick let himself be drawn into John’s open arms, as John folded them around his slender frame.

John moved aside, laying out a hand to beckon Nick in. It was then that John realised, eyes widening in surprise that presents were littered all around Nick: some small gifts wrapped in delicate blue and silver. They were all dwarfed by one giant, a good couple metres by metres, silver box of intrigue.

Nick’s wrapping was always pristine, taped and re-taped, that John was more often than not baffled as to how to open his gifts. John would inch a deft finger in, desperate to find a groove to lift the paper off, even more desperate not to tear it. He still struggled at twenty five like he had aged fifteen, Sylvia Bates really had taught her son well. John would also revel in the glittery remnants that were left behind.

John’s chocolate eyes widened comically at the huge box, coated in sparkling silver and topped with a calming wintry blue, that was propped beside Nick. The bow was big and eye catching: coaxing John to it. His mind tortured him over what was inside, what Nick had gotten up too this time?

“No Julie?” He asked, trying to hide his wandering eyes that were surely amplified behind the thick rimmed frames.

Together they heaved the presents in, the occasional grunt passing between them. They initiated a game of _Tetris_ with box after box, trying to fit the gifts into the tight corridor.

“She’s busy prepping for dinner.” Nick stated, a hint of guilt was evident in his voice. John could tell that he felt bad for leaving her. Either that or Nick was lying. Why would Nick be lying? “She asked me to send you her Christmas wishes and that she can’t wait to see you, all _three_ of you, in the festive spirits tonight.”

“That’s very kind of her.” John turned away from him, fiddling with the latch. “Are you _sure_ she is doing okay, Nick?”

“Oh, absolutely. It seems as though she has never been happier.”

John was content with that answer and the glimmer in Nick’s hazel eyes pierced through his own.

“So, where is she? My beautiful niece.” John found himself grinning, knowing that Nick’s smile was well on its way to reaching his over lined eyes.

“Napping, I put her down about” John paused, checking his watch, “Uh.. half an hour ago.”

“ _Rio_?”

John stopped himself, momentarily debating whether to reveal the track that really helped to settle his daughter. Screw it.

“Uh, no… _Girls On Film_.”

Nick sniggered and raised an appraising eyebrow: surely, his thoughts were no where near as innocent as his face first appeared. John smirked at the thought.

“She’s definitely a Taylor; isn’t she _Tigger_.”

“Shit, depends which Taylor!”

They both tried to duck the awkward moment that John hadn’t intended to cause. He was biting into his bottom lip and blushing, cheeks tinted red.

“So, where is our drama queen?”

“ _Drama Queen?_ Couldn’t come up with anything more _creative_ , Nicholas?” As if on cue, Simon rounded the corner with a huge grin plastered to his handsome face. “Something more insulting? Less of a compliment?”

Nick waved him off. “It’s Christmas. My creativity is taking a back seat for today.”

“Sure it is.” John nodded along. “Sure Nicky, blame the holidays.”

  
***  
  


The three band mates, the _Notorious_ survivors, huddled around the fireplace. John kept an ear out for his daughter’s heart tugging cries, precious giggles and adorable hiccups in case she awoke and wanted him. He was finding it hard to split his focus but for his darling, Daddy’s little rockstar princess, he would be keeping an ear open.

John bought his steaming mug of hot chocolate to his face, the whiff of Bourneville’s finest alone making him grin like a loon. He dove in for a marshmallow and sucked it as he cocked his head over to Nick and Simon, who were chatting amongst each other with _Arcadia_ this and _Arcadia_ that, so John busied himself with his thoughts: channeling them back to the huge box that Nick had heaved into his home.

  
***  
  


“I want you to open it, John, for the two of us.” Simon’s voice was tender and reassuring as he all but shoved John into the mysterious tempter of blue and silver.

Nick nodded along as he dove into his bag; fishing out his Haminax camera, one of his latest toys.

“Why are you?” John began, with a pout.

“Nigel, I want to capture your reaction.”

“Yeah John, that’s what a _camera_ does.”

Something told John not to question Nick, the warmth in those hazel eyes was reassuring. John knew it was a stitch up but it was Christmas: he would play along; bringing some form of Christmas cheer.

Cautiously John rose to his feet, heading right for the shimmering silver box that he had just noticed had his name printed in an artsy sans-serif font on its side. It was lovingly written in gold too. Pure Nick. He stood before it, taking in every inch of pattern: the sparkly snowflakes that littered the paper.

Peering over his shoulder, he noticed that Nick had moved and was now sitting cross legged beside Simon on the carpet. He had his camera in hand and a grin on those pink lips.

“Come on, Nigel. Open it!” He encouraged, nimble fingers gesturing forward.

“Shouldn’t we wait for—“

“—John, she’s _five_ months old.” He was interrupted, casting his glance back to Simon as he continued. “Our princess isn’t going to respond much to this gift, other than probably spitting up… whatever. Not like how _you_ will.”

“How I will?” He questioned.

“Yes, baby, if you bloody open it!”

John’s slender hands skirted the top of the box, searching for a gap in the layers of wrapping to pry it open. He was eager yet determined not to rip it all completely. Unveiling a black wooden border, John hunched over with the slump in his shoulders voicing his confusion. His eyebrows furrowed as he cast a look back over his shoulder to Nick. Nick, who had a mischievous glint in his eyes. A mischievous aura radiating from him.

“Turn it around, _carefully_.” He warned, bringing his camera back up to his face. “It’s heavy.”

“Precious.” Simon chimed in.

John did just that, inching the huge black box around.

There he stood, dumbfounded, jaw slack and eyes filling with tears.

“Do you like it, John?”

“It’s truly magnificent, isn’t it Nigel?”

John knew they were speaking to him yet he didn’t hear them, he couldn’t formulate a response. His breathing was rapid, coming far too fast and his heart was pounding far too loud that the beat thrummed wild through his veins.

A deft hand on his shoulder shook John from his daze. “John, _baby_ , are you alright?”

John flung his body around, throwing his arms around Simon’s strong shoulders. His tears were streaming down his face, thick rims amplifying the vulnerability of his stance, shoulders quaking, as he let his heart pour out everything he couldn’t bring himself to say.

John shuddered as he felt another set of hands encase his body, Nick was now standing behind him and together they hugged him, steadied him.

“I take it that you _like_ it then, right Nigel?” Nick laughed into his ear as John nodded over and over, with a muffled cry.

“ _Love_ it.”

Reluctantly John broke away, trembling, to turn back to his gift. Brushing the tears from behind the lenses, he stood face to face with the most beautiful gift any beautiful soul could think to give him. Surely, John didn’t deserve it.

“ _Nagel_.” He breathed, tears streaming again. “Freaking… Patrick, how.. when?”

The painting was exquisite. With an innocent white contrasting harshly against the swirls of ruby and schwarz that framed the pasty skin. The strokes that were once wild now appeared more geometric, slick and refined. The details took nothing away from the muse and his original beauty.

From John and his daughter, when he was carrying her. Back in May, soaking up the Antigua sun: skin caressed in his colours and lovingly wrapped in black chiffon that caught the sea breeze.

John was standing face to face with himself, transformed, re-imagined in Nagel’s iconic style. He was a cartoon, pasty skin bought to life with rich line work and vibrant colours. He was a _Nagel girl_ , a playboy worthy painting.

The tears hadn’t stopped streaming.

He was a _Nagel girl_ , bought to life by the same artist who had given him, the band, one of the most recognisable pieces of artwork in recent music history. The _Rio_ girl, the dazzling Reema, would surely become an icon, a perfect summation of the era: the blinding neon captured in such a striking light.

John looked just like that.

Nagel had captured John on the beach, his lips were a bold red and his eyeliner was thick yet pristine. He had two hands, nails tinted rouge, on his stomach, covered in midnight black and fire-engine red, looking slightly off to his right. John’s head was held high as the black fabric weaved around his limbs, trailing off of the canvas.

Leaning forward, a shaky hand tracing the outline of his painted face. John traced the black piercing eyes, following the tribal patterns inscribed on it; much like the ones Nick had painted on him all those months ago. The resemblance, albeit a cartoon, was uncanny.

John was well and truly floored.

“Take a closer look. Bottom right corner.”

“What?” John finally found his voice, cracking on the single syllable.

Simon was laughing, the sound beautiful and comforting in the moment. “Johnny, baby, Nick said to look at the bottom right corner.”

Following their orders John carefully crouched down, suddenly feeling unsteady, and focused his gaze. He tipped his glasses back up onto his face and squinted.

“John..” He sniffed, “John, y-you danced into.. _shit_ , sorry” He croaked, wiping at his eyes again.

“It’s okay, Nigel, take your time.” Nick’s voice was soothing as he crouched behind John, resting a hand atop his shoulder.

“John,” He began again, “You danced into the fire… but you came out shining. We.. we couldn’t be more p- _proud_ and we, _shit_ , we can’t wait for the next adventure.” John bought a trembling hand up to his face. “ _Merry Christmas_ , lots of l- _love_ from…”

John rose to his feet, coaxing Nick up with him. They stood before John, eyes teary.

“From Charlie, Nick and Patrick.”

John lurched his weight forward, enveloping both Simon and Nick in his arms.

“Damn hormones, I thought they.. we, _were_ meant to.. get _easier_ to handle!” He cried over and over, all happy tears, muffling those cries in the sequins that coated Nick’s shoulder and the leather that covered Simon’s.

“Are you _happy_ now, John?” Simon sounded sincere, bringing a hand to rest in John’s hair. He massaged the back of his head in small, circular motions. “We did what we did?”

Breaking away, John wiped at his eyes and took in a shaky breath as his gaze fell upon the two men standing before him. He laughed, it was small but still precious, at the joke.

“Yes, _yes!_ Thank you. I cannot.. you know, thank you both.. God, it’s incredible! I can’t thank you both for this enough. I, I just- uh.”

Nick’s booming voice piped in. “No need to thank us John. Patrick wishes you all the best, he couldn’t be more happy for you.”

John smiled, baring his teeth, at the mere mention of the name. He still couldn’t comprehend it, he was seeing himself… drawn in such a way. Painted in such a way. Being added to a collection of sure to be icons: daring and vibrant.

So nineteen eighty five that it hurt.

Standing between the two _Arcadia_ boys, John enveloped his arms around both waists; drawing them in for another group hug. John’s eyes were so focused on those, his painted own, before him that he missed the cries. He missed the tap on his shoulder.

“John, hey John. She’s hungry.” Nick stated, a small smile tugging at his pink lips.

“Our princess is _Hungry Like The Wolf_ , baby.” Simon winked, drawing John back to reality.

He nodded, smiling. He disengaged, eyes planted on his painting as he began to retreat for the door.

“I cannot, honestly.. cannot thank you both enough.”

“We love you so damn much, Nigel.” Nick stated, adamant.

“Absolutely; you deserve it baby. For all that you’ve been through, here.”

The last thing John saw as he slipped through the door was Simon with his huge, blinding white smile and sparkling eyes. They melted him on the spot. His heart felt light, whole, as he began those familiar thirteen paces up the stairs. His daughter’s little cries grew louder and John felt his heart swell.

John hushed her, voice light and full of care.

“It’s Christmas time,” He engulfed a breath of air, trying to find his key, “there’s no need to be afraid.”

  
***  
  


That evening, John and Simon joined Nick and his wife Julie Anne in their warm and welcoming home. After laying his baby to rest upstairs in the cot Nick insisted on buying for her, painted in blue and silver, John joined them back downstairs. They sat at their dinner table, covered in trays of endless Yorkshire Puddings, roast potatoes and steamed vegetables. The dinner was candle lit, the sweet smell of cranberry couldn’t beat the delectable aroma of the turkey.

Julie Anne had truly outdone herself.

There was no alcohol, though. John silently thanked Nick for that.

Julie Anne called a toast, clinking a glass and beckoning Nick to his feet. He rounded the table, coming to stand behind her. He wrapped two tender hands around her, his head dropping to rest in the juncture of where her diamond encrusted neck met chiffon clad shoulder.

She was quick to the point, as was her husband. Both were beaming, brighter than anything John had seen from Nick in a very long time.

“We’re pregnant.” Nick stated, silken voice cracking.

John’s body was quaking in excitement. He did a double take, eyes darting back and forth from Simon’s opened mouth to Nick’s huge grin.

“Christ, Johnny.” Never one to shy away from a good joke, Simon continued. “No more damn babies!” Nick, did you get my man knocked up? You _wanker_ , you know he can’t control himself!”

“Oh good god, Charlie!” Nick chuckled, hands tightening around Julie Anne’s trim waist.

John cocked an eyebrow, delivering a sly look. “Yes, he most certainly did. Jealous much?”

“Very. Keep that bloody back door closed!”

“No promise- _woah!”_

Simon yanked John over by the overgrown hair, claiming his lips in his own. The kiss was passionate, deep and messy that John found himself melting. He found himself trying to refrain from moaning into Simon’s mouth, not that he minded putting on a show for Mr and Mrs Rhodes.

“We still have to eat, boys” Julie’s light voice filled the room, tinged with amusement. “I don’t want my appetite ruined further, I’m eating for two here!”

“Save it till the morning after, if you were both to be so kind.”

It took a moment, the realisation hit John as if someone had whacked him over the head with his bass. Hard.

“Holy fucking God!” He screeched, trying to stand so fast that his knees hit below the table.

“What, Johnny?”

“Charlie, luv, our princess.. she, she has a _sibling!_ ” John yelled, blinking rapidly as the tears began to form.

Nick and Simon were choking on their laughter. John’s face was placid, open, screaming his happiness for Nick. He couldn’t believe it, how far the two of them had come. How Nick had stayed by him through everything this last year. How Nick had never given up on him.

John only hoped, prayed, that he could do the same for Nick. Be there for him and Julie Anne. Be there for the life his big brother would be bringing, undoubtably full of glitter and sparkle, into his already chaotic utopia.

“Congratulations, I.. wow, Nick- are you both for real?” John stammered out, already aware of the answer.

“It is most definitely true, John. We wanted you both to be first to know.” Fuchsia nails pointed in John’s direction who followed them up to the bright look on Julie Anne’s face.

“I hope we haven’t stolen your thunder.” Nick laced his hands with Julie Anne’s own, who sighed in appreciation at his touch.

“We couldn’t be any happier for you two, I honestly.. wow, Nick, I can’t freaking believe it!” Simon was gleeful, smiling so broad that his cheeks had to be hurting. “You’ll make the best father, so many damn sparkles.”

The laughter carried them through well into the night. They reminisced, reciting back month after month and John found himself smiling non-stop.

It was a Christmas miracle, not just for he and Simon. Nick deserves the absolute best and John was determined to be there for him, every step of the way.

John could never forget this day: the greatest gift he had gotten this year was indeed, life. A new lease on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick Nagel did sadly pass in 1984 but for the sake of this fic I needed him alive. I couldn’t hold back from John receiving such a gift, it just fits perfectly.


End file.
